


reverence, worship, healing, defiance

by NahaFlowers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a priest, Crowley is a king, Fluff, Gardener!Aziraphale - Freeform, M/M, Nanny!Crowley - Freeform, POV Multiple, Tenderness, aziraphale says 'fuck you gabriel i won't do what you tell me' in the most succinct of ways, but in different settings, hand kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: Four different times. Four different places. Two idiots, kissing each other's hands.





	reverence, worship, healing, defiance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enthugger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthugger/gifts).



> Birthday fic for enthugger because they asked for Crowley/Aziraphale hand-kissing, and honestly, how could I say no?

1.

The first time is a surprise to both of them. They aren't expecting each other.

Aziraphale has been granted an audience with the king. He had wanted to know who was responsible for all the good deeds in the kingdom, although it did not sound like he wanted to thank Aziraphale. He could hardly say no to a King, even one of such warlike stature and reputation, but even so. He would have to play it safe so as not to be discorporated. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare. 

So, reverence is key. He reminds himself of this as he enters the King's chambers, the King before him, seated on his throne with his crown atop his head and a veil over his face. It is said that no one has ever seen the King's face. Aziraphale isn't sure about that, but it is certain that the King is a creature of mystery as well as murder. He falls to his knees in front of the throne, swipes his helmet off and takes the King's outstretched hand to kiss, all in one sweep of motion. 

Crowley, for his part, doesn't recognise Aziraphale until he has swept his helmet off and by then it is too late to react; Aziraphale's lips are already at his knuckles. He brushes his veil aside (oblivious to the gasps of his attendants) that Aziraphale may see his face when he finally looks up, and just sits there, stunned. The angel's lips burn a little as they touch his demonic skin, but it is not that which leaves him motionless, speechless. It is the warmth in the pit of his stomach, the increasing pitter patter of his physical form's heart as he gazes down at the angel, eyes closed and expression adorned with such reverence as he kisses him. 

When Aziraphale finally looks up (it feels like an age to Crowley, although it has only been a few seconds) and he reels back a few bent-legged steps in shock. "C-Crowley," he stammers, cheeks going a fetching shade of pink. He licks his lips in annoyance, perhaps even embarrassment. "I should have known it was you!" 

Crowley is just about able to regain his faculties enough to give the angel a sly smirk. "You didn't, though. Showing reverence to a demon, tut tut, Heaven won't be happy."

Aziraphale actually blushes properly this time. "I was merely showing common courtesy to the King. Keeping up appearances." He sniffed. "I see now that wasn't necessary."

Crowley frowns. "Oh, now, don't be like that Aziraphale! I am still the King, after all! And you've been thwarting my wiles every which way, so I'm sure one little kiss won't count against you." He grins a little manically, trying to ignore the heat he felt in his cheeks. 

Aziraphale pouts. "It was barely a press of my lips to your knuckles," he huffs. I didn't even scald my lips."

Crowley raises his eyebrows, then shrugs. "Well, never mind that," he says, determined to change the subject before he can dwell on it too much. "Stay for some supper, at least, before you go back to thwarting my wiles."

"Oh I couldn't..." says Aziraphale, biting his lip. He looks shiftily from side to side, then glances up. He sighs. "Just a bite to eat can't hurt, I suppose. I've heard you have terrific banquets up in this castle."

Crowley smiles and leans back, then snaps his fingers for his servants to bring them food. And wine, plenty of wine. 

 

2.

Perhaps, Crowley thinks, this is...the opposite of blasphemy. Whatever blasphemy is for demons.

Aziraphale has disguised himself as a high priest and, for the plan to work, Crowley must be one of his loyal and adoring flock. It's not a role he enjoys playing, nor is he particularly good at it. Part of him blanches at the idea of kissing the hand of an angel. 

But the other part of him...Aziraphale is no ordinary angel. Oh, he doesn't mean that in rank (although Aziraphale is a high-ranking principality) nor in goodness (although he's that, as well). Aziraphale is...well, he's just Aziraphale. Warm, and a little too in love with Earthly pleasures, and sometimes almost stupidly kind (Crowley hasn't forgotten the flaming sword incident)*. But as he follows the line of people waiting to kiss his angel's hand, he thinks, the amassed ranks of Heaven and Hell ought to go down on their knees and worship at Aziraphale's feet. And that's an opinion that neither hellfire nor holy water can melt out of him. 

His turn comes and he drops to his knees and kisses Aziraphale's hand with almost passionate reverence. He looks up to see Aziraphale smile at him (although there is confusion clouding the light of his smile) and nod down at him. That's it. That's the signal. 

  
  


3.

Nanny and the gardener, Warlock has observed, appear to be in a constant, but very civil war, although he's rarely seen them speak to each other. He thinks they avoid each other on purpose, although to be fair their paths rarely cross.

One day, Nanny and he are in the kitchen, making-well, making a mess, more than anything else. 

"Very good, Warlock," Nanny coos as he tips Tabasco and cinnamon powder into the gooey chocolaty mess. He's gonna give this to his dad when he comes home tonight. See how he likes  _that_. He says as much to Nanny, who just smiles indulgently. Warlock sort of loves Nanny. 

All of a sudden there's a clatter, and the two of them are looking helplessly down at the broken pile of glass that was the Tabasco sauce. 

"Oh dear," says Nanny, in her Scottish brogue. "You didn't get any in the mixture, did you?" Warlock peers in carefully before shaking his head. "Well, never mind then. I'll just clear this up."

She bends to pick the glass up in her bare hands** and stifles a gasp as the jagged pieces slice into her skin. Warlock winces in sympathy. She hotfoots it outside to dispose of the (now bloody as well as spicy) glass but as she turns to come back in, the gardener, hurrying in from the sudden rainfall, bumps right into her. 

Warlock, with a front row view, winces again and then settles down to watch the show. He only wishes he had popcorn. 

"Oh, my dear lady, I'm sorry," says the gardener. Nanny scowls at him (although it's not as severe as Warlock expected, certainly not the severest scowl he's seen her wear), but says nothing. 

"After you," says the gardener, gesturing to the door, but in doing so he looks down, and gasps in shock at the state of Nanny's hands. 

"What have you done?" he says, almost a tad crossly, in Warlock's opinion. 

Nanny rolls her eyes and gives her best put-upon sigh. "Just some broken glass," she says, nonchalantly, although her face is drawn tight with pain. "It's nothing."

The gardener shakes his head. "It's not nothing," he says, and before Nanny can react, the gardener has taken Nanny's hand in his own, and pressed his plump lips to it. 

Warlock gasps loudly then turns it into a cough, quickly turning round and raising his eyebrows at the disgusting mixture. Not _mortal_  enemies, then. 

When Nanny returns to him the gardener is gone. 

There's not a single scratch on Nanny's hands. 

  
4.

They are back at Crowley's flat, discussing in hushed tones what their next step should be, when a blinding light shines in the darkness of the flat and Gabriel appears before them.

_Do not be afraid_ , Aziraphale thinks, acidly, but he is, very afraid. They're not ready yet! They need to set the plan in motion or they'll be destroyed! 

His reaction is nothing to Crowley's though. The demon is trembling like a leaf but he steps in front of Aziraphale protectively. 

Aziraphale feels the last piece of his treacherous heart steal away from Heaven and latch onto this most extraordinary of demons. 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and bats Crowley to the floor. Oh, Aziraphale just wants to _smite_  him. 

The Archangel smiles at Aziraphale. It's all mouth - his eyes are cold. "Aziraphale," he says winningly, all false charm. "It doesn't have to be this way. Give _him_ up," he indicates the demon on the floor, "let us have him, and join your brothers in Heaven. It's where you _belong_."

Aziraphale feels the fear, real fear, radiating off Crowley now, and realises that it's because Crowley actually believes he might be tempted, might go back to them. He's angry at himself for letting Crowley believe that for so long.

"No," he says, with a small, polite smile. "No, I don't think I will."

The smile drops from Gabriel's face and his eyes are anything but expressionless now. He is apoplectically, burningly furious. "You know what will happen to you if you don't," he growls.

Aziraphale hums in agreement. "Yes," he says, offering Crowley a hand and pulling the demon up from the floor. Gabriel's rage grows impossibly, almost imperceptibly larger. Aziraphale full-on grins now, and drops to his knees. He looks up at Crowley, who is gazing down at him questioningly. "But I rather think it's worth the risk," he says, and allows his lips to caress his demon's skin, gazing shyly but surely up at him with his lips still on Crowley's hand. Crowley gazes back, shocked but steady. Content in a way Aziraphale has never felt from him before.

Gabriel literally explodes in rage. Aziraphale looks slowly back towards the empty air has left, reluctant to draw his attention away from the demon, even for a second. He shrugs.

He'll be back. And they'll be ready.

Getting to his feet, he looks at his demon and smiles. Crowley smiles back. 

  
  


*Neither has God, but for different reasons.

**Crowley had forgotten that his hands, along with the rest of his body, were human and therefore liable to get cut and bleed when handling broken glass. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written/posted for these two (definitely not the last!) so any comments would be appreciated! Pretty much based on the TV series (and any fanon/book stuff I've absorbed through osmosis reading posts and fanfics over the past few weeks), I haven't read the book in a few years!


End file.
